


Metamorphosis

by ren_makoto



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ren_makoto/pseuds/ren_makoto
Summary: Leo is changing. Neymar is largely responsible. A small smutty section of a larger work."He said sex with Leo was fun. Not wild or drunken or terribly passionate like some of his flings when he was younger, but more like innocent fumblings he had when he was much, much younger. Leo wasn't sure if this was a compliment or not. He decided not to ask. As with most things, it was easier to stay silent and let Neymar talk."





	

It didn't matter if he was sore in the morning, he said. Not anymore. The league was won and they were champions again and Neymar felt like getting fucked. He told Leo as much, and Leo wasn't surprised, just invited him in and shut the door behind him. The hotel was in a remote part of Granada, far enough away from the main roads to give the illusion that the players were protected.

And Leo's room was away from the others, on a different floor entirely, which meant Neymar could be as loud as he liked. It was one of the many quirky requests Leo made to the club and the managers that they were happy to fulfill because Leo was _Leo Messi_ and keeping him happy meant they got to keep _him_. Leo didn't mind taking advantage of his importance at the club. He liked it when things went his way, when he got things simply by having to mention that he wanted them.

And speaking of that, he had Neymar stripping in his room, something he wanted very much now. He hadn't always, but now, he expected sex with Neymar the same way he expected Barca to give him anything he asks for, including a big private room far away from prying eyes. The man he was becoming now liked to fuck Neymar. The man he was becoming expected Neymar to come and get what he so obviously wanted.

There wasn't much build up, not much foreplay; there wasn't even a kiss before Neymar was slicking himself up and easing himself down onto Leo's cock. Even if they came about this arrangement in a roundabout way, Neymar was always direct.

Neymar had taken most of the initiative, said the effort was a relatively small price to pay for what he got in exchange. He said sex with Leo was fun. Not wild or drunken or terribly passionate like some of his flings when he was younger, but more like innocent fumblings he had when he was much, _much_ younger. Leo wasn't sure if this was a compliment or not. He decided not to ask. As with most things, it was easier to stay silent and let Neymar talk.

Neymar liked to ride Leo, to spread his legs wide, settle on his bony knees, and rock up and down, slow and dirty. Leo thought the reason had to be because Neymar liked to control the pace, liked to control everything, actually. He smiled even when he fucked, that billion-dollar smile. 

Sometimes he grabbed his dick, worked it rough and fast, the muscles of his arm straining. Sometimes he stopped, raked his nails down Leo's stomach. He muttered in Portuguese, and Leo knew enough from Ronaldinho, Deco, and Dani to catch most of it.

Besides, it wasn't like Neymar was reciting Shakespeare; everything he said was a variation of, "It's good. Yeah, just like that. More, Leo. So good."   

To be honest, Leo didn't have to do much. He gripped Neymar's bony hips, he watched his body roll and shake and jerk above him. Sometimes he thrust up, just to surprise Neymar and throw off the rhythm he had set for himself. It made Neymar gasp and then laugh, made him squeeze Leo's dick deep inside him. He whispered something too quiet for Leo to catch, hunched down low--low enough to lick Leo--which he promptly did, from chin to nose, a long, slow swipe. It was hot and wet and strange. It surprised Leo, who didn't know what it meant, or if it meant anything at all. All he could do was lick his lips after, taste Neymar on his tongue, and that made Neymar laugh again.

Everything was fun to Neymar. So long as they were winning. So long as he had his toys and his friends and his fast cars, life was joy. As long as he could fuck Leo and not get caught, everything was a game.  

He watched Neymar bite his lip, traced his eyes down his smooth brown skin, took in the tattoos on his chest and arms. So much ink, so many changes to his appearance coming at an alarming rate. His hair, his clothes, his own skin: Neymar was slowly becoming who he was, jumping at each new version of himself as soon as he discovered it. Leo had caught the bug, too. One day he'd felt something clawing at the inside of his skin, begging to come out.

Leo thrust up, just a little too hard and fast, just to hear Neymar shout. He did again. And again. Watched Neymar rock into it, revel in the intensity. 

Neymar suddenly arched, shouted, "Leo, yes," came all over both of them, and then squeezed Leo hard until he came too. Leo's orgasm was quieter, he just said, "Ney," softly and pulled Neymar down close so he could kiss him as he spilled inside him. Neymar let himself be kissed, slid his tongue into Leo's mouth, and bit his lower lip teasingly. Then he rolled to the side and flopped down with his arm over his face.

Leo looked at him for a moment, his chest heaving up and down just like his own. He stared at Neymar's arm, but it was difficult to make out the lines of Neymar's tattoos in the dark. His own, however, stood out on his pale skin. Leo raised his right arm, moved it slowly before his eyes to study the intricate patterns and swirls and flowers covering every inch of his skin there. It didn't seem enough, somehow, to express all the things he was feeling; it didn't quite express the wild thing that was stirring inside him. It didn't ease the scratching, the clawing. 

The endless clawing.

He had come to understand exactly what it was only a month before. He had looked at himself in the mirror and only the tattoos had seemed right. Everything else had belonged to a man he no longer was. Sometime while he wasn't paying attention, something had changed; nothing about how he _looked_ seemed to fit with how he _felt_ anymore. 

The truth of it all was this: He didn't actually want to be Leo Messi anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the win in Granada in May 2016 when Barcelona won the League. I'm going to call this a WIP. This first chapter is in process, but I thought I would post it to get feedback. This is from Leo's point of view, which I think is a hard thing to do. Would love feedback if you have any to offer!


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